


Gift of the roses

by wifebeast__s



Series: LA By Night Fluff Fest 2020 [2]
Category: L.A. By Night (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Gift Exchange, Holidays, LA By Night Fluff Fest 2020, friends as old as time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wifebeast__s/pseuds/wifebeast__s
Summary: Isaac and Nelli have known each other long time, and even in the changing world, some traditions are worth keeping.
Relationships: Isaac Abrams & Nelli G
Series: LA By Night Fluff Fest 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731382
Comments: 14
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Time is purposely left vague here, since I cannot keep straight who was born or did what when. So you know...*waves vaguely*
> 
> FLUFF FEST!

It is difficult to think of a bond greater than one bourne of saving each other’s lives, save of course a blood bond, and mutual respect seems to be enough without resorting to such a thing. To say that he loves her is perhaps not enough. They have dragged themselves and one another, beaten and bloodied, through the trenches - maybe not literally, but the sentiment is the same.

When Isaac met Nelli, she was still part of the Camarilla, sent as an agent to disband a ring of Sabbat in Milan. She was so young. It had pissed him off; as if he didn’t already hate the damned Ivory Tower, they had sent this kid into a fucking war zone. 

But fuck if she didn’t surprise him.

She was as smart as she was beautiful. 

Still…

They worked together to put down the Lasombra and few antitribu in the city, and he convinced her that she belonged in the Anarch movement. It wasn’t the hardest sell, to be fair; Chaz was a piece of work, and isn’t it nice to use past tense when thinking of that fucker? 

He shifts the package in his hand, head tilted to the side, as he studies it, watches the light shift and reflect off its surface.

This custom of theirs started back then. Holidays aren’t really a thing for Kindred. What’s the point? 

But that winter in Milan it snowed on Christmas Eve, fat, wet, fluffy snow that, were they so inclined, they could have caught on their tongues. As it was, Nelli spent some time looking up into the grey sky.

“I’ve never seen snow,” she said without looking at him.

It seemed reason enough to stop their hunt, just for a day or two. And given the timing, it followed that they should celebrate the holiday, a throwback to days gone by. 

In true Toreador fashion, and as they have since then been fond of recounting often, on Christmas morning, they opened their respective gifts to find that they each had purchased for the other a scarf.

Hers a silky, shimmering blue that complemented her hair.

His a grey and red cashmere piece that he uses to this day.

Despite the years since then, the changes both in one another and around them, this tradition has lived on for them. With few exceptions they meet on eve or day, whichever they are able to manage; sometimes they reminisce, other times they don't.

He idly straightens the neatly wrapped gift now sitting on his desk, staring at it, though seeing instead the snow-covered streets of a city far off, a couple of days of beauty and peace amidst true darkness.

It isn’t much longer before she sweeps into the room, bright colored gift bag on her arm, along with a jacket, a purse, and - he smiles to see - the blue scarf. 

“Nelli,” he greets, holding out his hands in welcome.

She stops short, mid spin to wrestle briefly with the door behind her, and smiles broadly, “Isaac.”

The door clicks shut behind her finally, and she sinks gracefully into a chair opposite him, jacket, scarf and purse thrown onto the second chair, and the shining red bag placed gently onto his desk, “Merry Christmas.”

He bows his head slightly, “Merry Christmas.”

Silence stretches between them, like the years they have shared, as they each eye the gifts on the desk. Neither will make a move first, of course.

Isaac leans back in his chair, “How are things? Still working with Victor?”

She mirrors him, one finger stretching to her temple, “Yes,” she drawls, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

“He treat you ok?”

“Of course. He and I knew each other…before.”

He nods. He had heard, of course. Given her status in life and Victor Temple’s fame, it would be more surprising if they had not met prior to being Embraced. 

“Although we could use some…muscle?”

He arches an eyebrow at that. He almost asks what they are up to that they need someone like that, but he knows he doesn’t have to.

“We have something to investigate at the docks. I don’t want to say much more than that, in case it turns out to be nothing. But if it is something…”

He raises a hand, “Say no more. I know just the person. I’ll put him in touch with you.”

Another broad, warm smile, “Thank you.”

He shrugs, picks at his lapel. It is not worth mentioning, really. As many favors they have exchanged, putting her in touch with the young Nosferatu he’s come to know is minor.

“But you didn’t come here to talk business, right?” He eyes the gifts.

“Are you going soft on me?”

He laughs, picks up the small box and tosses it her way. She catches it as gingerly as she can, two hands coming up to secure it and bring it to her lap. She nudges the bag toward him. 

“Ladies first.”

He watches her slide one of her long nails under the taped edge of the wrapping, the paper somehow staying intact under her careful ministrations. She unfolds it slowly, a tease almost, until she reveals the blue box within, tied with its own white ribbon. A finely sculpted eyebrow raises in question, as her eyes dart up to meet his.

They are not strangers to extravagant gifts; they revel in finery, after all. Still this is unusual, he knows.

She turns the box slowly on her lap, so the words on the lid are right-side-up. Between curious and part scolding looks, she pulls the ribbon free and finally opens the box.

He knows she likes rubies, though how much of that is preference and how much is sentiment attached to the heirloom necklace he isn't really sure.

She is staring down at the necklace, and he frowns at his inability to read her expression. 

“Isaac,” his name comes out of her like a gust.

She pulls the string of dark Tahitian pearls from the confines of the box. She is staring at them, and he thinks that might be a good sign.

“You…this is…”

He opens his hands out in front of him, “I know you can make rubies work with anything. I thought perhaps you could give these a try.”

“It’s beautiful.”

His lips tick up into a grin, “Indeed.”


	2. Years later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nelli has kept the tradition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well the question was posed, and that led me here! For prompt #5 - "I've missed you so much"

It is difficult to think of a bond greater than one bourne of saving each other’s lives. To say that she loves him is perhaps not enough. They have dragged themselves and one another, beaten and bloodied, through the trenches - maybe not literally, but the sentiment is the same.

For years they kept up the tradition. She adored finding frivolous but fine things to give him, and he always surprised her, lavished her with gifts that were more befitting a sire to their childe or a man to a lover. 

And for years now she has continued the tradition on her own.

The first year after Isaac went East, Nelli found his gift a few weeks before Christmas. It was a frivolous thing, a little gauche, but she couldn’t resist purchasing the pair of film reel cuff links. She could picture his face opening them, an amused frown. He’d roll his eyes, tell her how awful they were, and he’d be wearing them the next time she visited.

After that was the custom fountain pen. She doesn’t recall the purpose, but it had spoken to her that year, and so she had it made, wrapped it, and placed it in the safe that used to be his in the office that also used to be his, alongside the wrapped cuff links.

Each year she’s collected another gift, a small offering that she places in the safe, which has become an altar.

And each year she stares at those offerings just a little longer and wonders if this will be the year she stops.

She has other traditions like this. Victor makes it a point to celebrate her birthday every year, throwing a party, releasing an album, something. They get together on the anniversary of the opening of the Maharajah, and they share stories about people who are aging or dead now.

But Nelli isn’t one to lose hope, not really.

She tells herself all of this, as she places the latest package on the small pile. She makes a point not to count them, even as she touches them each in turn, appreciating at least that the paper has not faded over time, protected in the air-tight safe. 

Cuff links. Fountain pen. The Italian leather wallet. The glass rose. The framed picture of Isaac from life with some film star of the day. 

She is deep in thought and memory, so she doesn’t hear the door open, isn’t tuned into those sorts of things in the safety of this place. 

She doesn’t hear until the footsteps are almost right behind her. She turns slowly because she knows she’s not in danger. No one looking to hurt her could have gotten this far without her having some warning.

And she is right.

There is no danger.

Her hand flies to her lips to muffle her cry of…relief? Joy? Disbelief?

Her other hand reaches out and is clasped in his larger one.

“Merry Christmas, Nelli.”

“Isaac,” she gasps, “I…I’ve missed you so much.”


End file.
